The thought exploded into Nelson’s consciousness. “If I wasn’t going to be hanged before, I sure am now.” He whipped around to see the complex from which he had just escaped and his injured compatriot limping with some help from what’s-her-face. Tilting his head toward the dark abyss of the sky, he caught what would probably be his last glance of the window they had escaped from. It had seemed higher when they were climbing down. The pounding of his heart in his ear created a bass line which served as the soundtrack for their escape. Nelson was disappointed with himself and his ad-hoc party for leaving that old man with nothing but a steel bar to defend himself as half of Crowley’s army descended on those miserable cells. “In retrospect, it was probably foolish to even break the old man out. He’ll almost certainly be executed for trying to escape,” Nelson regretted, “I guess that makes two of us. At least he'll die on his feet.”
Realizing that the task at hand was a bit more pressing than feeling guilty, He re-oriented himself towards the darkness toward the north. “We have to get moving,” he gestured to the rest of the party. What’s-her-face and the injured one did not seem very receptive to the suggestion which, upon momentary reflection, Nelson realized was painfully obvious to everyone. As the party left the shadow of the prison, or whatever it was, and shambled into the crumbling street illuminated by an oddly bright moon, the consequences of what he was doing became increasingly pressing in Nelson’s mind.
Why, exactly, the Waltzers had accused him of going on a three week killing spree in the sparsely populated neighborhood by the marina was beyond him. All he knew was that the Waltzers wanted him dead and that they would be particularly irritated now that he had escaped. Nelson let out a sickly chuckle, “At least they can’t kill me twice,” he thought to himself. His disposition had become increasingly caustic since he had been picked up for the alleged murders. Hostility toward strangers was a more and more common reaction for Nelson. He barely had any regrets about putting a steel bar through that prison guard’s head. Anyone who got in the way of his freedom, his wanderlust, and put him in a cage had it coming. At least, that’s how he justified it so he could sleep at night.
Redemption appeared to be the only alternative to a long rope and a short drop. And, as far as Nelson could tell, redemption was only available within the darkness of the ruins to the north. The group stopped at a derelict restaurant. A sign which had the letters faded into incomprehensibility precariously dangled over the threshold which was noteworthy only because the door was completely missing. They entered. The only light in the building was what was coming through a number of small, broken out windows. Everything stank of mildew.
The bounding lights from the flashlights of strangers also penetrated the rotting structure of the restaurant. Their gentle movements corresponded with an unknown number of footsteps in the street. Nelson was the first of the party to dash over the heaps of refuse piled high alongside flipped over tables and chairs to a counter towards the rear of the building. He did not check to see if the rest of the party was following his lead, but he was quickly joined by what’s-her-face tending to the injured guy and the others.
The brief intermission from fleeing allowed Nelson's mind to drift back to better days. Wandering through this increasingly miserable world was the only thing which allowed him to dream of escape or of something better. Perhaps, after somehow getting rich from his travels, Nelson could settle down on a farm or a cabin in the woods where no one would try to break him like those Waltzers did. Escape and freedom were the only thoughts which kept him motivated. Resting his hand in a small puddle pulled him back to his dark reality.
As he ran his hands along the cold tile floor, he saw what’s-her-face unceremoniously disappear on the other side of the counter. The only things that Nelson could find on the floor were dead mice carcasses and mold of a variety which could not be determined given the lack of illumination. Nelson wiped his hands on his poncho and looked up from the disgusting floor to see that the injured man was hobbling over to the door against the back wall. The man pushed against it, and seeing that it was blocked by a pile of something on the other side, gave up and returned to his corner. Nelson resumed the search for anything that might be of aid.
The situation felt more and more hopeless. The beams of light from the flashlights of whoever was outside felt like they were getting closer and closer, though Nelson had no way of telling for sure. Suppressing the thoughts of what he felt was his impending execution; Nelson began the search anew, this time with a specific goal in mind: a weapon. He felt the uncontrollable urge to fight as his anxieties about death by hanging triggered a flood of adrenaline. “At least I can take a few of them with me,” the cold hostility that had caused him to unnecessarily kill that prison guard kicked in again. Pulling open a drawer, he discovered a rusty piece of metal. Immediately he flashed back to the prison. He broke the bar in half with some effort and examined it in his hand. One end was jagged while the other end sat comfortably in his palm.
A loud shuffling was suddenly audible from the other side of the restaurant. Nelson sprang up with the bloodlust now visible in his eyes. He saw what’s-her-face grappling with a man. Then Nelson spotted the man’s uniform. There was no question in his mind what was about to happen. He vaulted the counter, poncho fluttering, and moved toward the fray.
Realizing that the task at hand was a bit more pressing than feeling guilty, He re-oriented himself towards the darkness toward the north. “We have to get moving,” he gestured to the rest of the party. What’s-her-face and the injured one did not seem very receptive to the suggestion which, upon momentary reflection, Nelson realized was painfully obvious to everyone. As the party left the shadow of the prison, or whatever it was, and shambled into the crumbling street illuminated by an oddly bright moon, the consequences of what he was doing became increasingly pressing in Nelson’s mind.
Why, exactly, the Waltzers had accused him of going on a three week killing spree in the sparsely populated neighborhood by the marina was beyond him. All he knew was that the Waltzers wanted him dead and that they would be particularly irritated now that he had escaped. Nelson let out a sickly chuckle, “At least they can’t kill me twice,” he thought to himself. His disposition had become increasingly caustic since he had been picked up for the alleged murders. Hostility toward strangers was a more and more common reaction for Nelson. He barely had any regrets about putting a steel bar through that prison guard’s head. Anyone who got in the way of his freedom, his wanderlust, and put him in a cage had it coming. At least, that’s how he justified it so he could sleep at night.
Redemption appeared to be the only alternative to a long rope and a short drop. And, as far as Nelson could tell, redemption was only available within the darkness of the ruins to the north. The group stopped at a derelict restaurant. A sign which had the letters faded into incomprehensibility precariously dangled over the threshold which was noteworthy only because the door was completely missing. They entered. The only light in the building was what was coming through a number of small, broken out windows. Everything stank of mildew.
The bounding lights from the flashlights of strangers also penetrated the rotting structure of the restaurant. Their gentle movements corresponded with an unknown number of footsteps in the street. Nelson was the first of the party to dash over the heaps of refuse piled high alongside flipped over tables and chairs to a counter towards the rear of the building. He did not check to see if the rest of the party was following his lead, but he was quickly joined by what’s-her-face tending to the injured guy and the others.
The brief intermission from fleeing allowed Nelson's mind to drift back to better days. Wandering through this increasingly miserable world was the only thing which allowed him to dream of escape or of something better. Perhaps, after somehow getting rich from his travels, Nelson could settle down on a farm or a cabin in the woods where no one would try to break him like those Waltzers did. Escape and freedom were the only thoughts which kept him motivated. Resting his hand in a small puddle pulled him back to his dark reality.
As he ran his hands along the cold tile floor, he saw what’s-her-face unceremoniously disappear on the other side of the counter. The only things that Nelson could find on the floor were dead mice carcasses and mold of a variety which could not be determined given the lack of illumination. Nelson wiped his hands on his poncho and looked up from the disgusting floor to see that the injured man was hobbling over to the door against the back wall. The man pushed against it, and seeing that it was blocked by a pile of something on the other side, gave up and returned to his corner. Nelson resumed the search for anything that might be of aid.
The situation felt more and more hopeless. The beams of light from the flashlights of whoever was outside felt like they were getting closer and closer, though Nelson had no way of telling for sure. Suppressing the thoughts of what he felt was his impending execution; Nelson began the search anew, this time with a specific goal in mind: a weapon. He felt the uncontrollable urge to fight as his anxieties about death by hanging triggered a flood of adrenaline. “At least I can take a few of them with me,” the cold hostility that had caused him to unnecessarily kill that prison guard kicked in again. Pulling open a drawer, he discovered a rusty piece of metal. Immediately he flashed back to the prison. He broke the bar in half with some effort and examined it in his hand. One end was jagged while the other end sat comfortably in his palm.
A loud shuffling was suddenly audible from the other side of the restaurant. Nelson sprang up with the bloodlust now visible in his eyes. He saw what’s-her-face grappling with a man. Then Nelson spotted the man’s uniform. There was no question in his mind what was about to happen. He vaulted the counter, poncho fluttering, and moved toward the fray.